Last week, the second week of kindergarten, Stella stumbled out of her bed, hair in her face like that kid from The Ring and hoarsely muttered, "I don't want to wake up anymore."
KID. I HEAR YOU.
We both have been awkwardly adjusting to this new pattern, new routine, new schedule, new mornings where I'm setting new records for the amount of times I can say "we're going to be late."
We are never late but my panic and anxiety ensures that every morning warm flop sweat is summoned on my back, where the layers of clothes and jackets and backpack get all snug and stuck to each other.
Because outside it's not as cold as I think it is.
September is a coy little lamb in Vancouver. Of course it's raining like warm spitballs being lobbed all over the city but it's not yet delicious scarf-tucked-up-over-your-chin weather. We're still hanging onto summer like a kid with a helium balloon at the end of the fair. We'll get distracted soon enough, let go, and let it shimmy up up up into the sky until it becomes a speck swallowed by the fiery streaks of a new autumn sunset.
I'm going to be 38 this week. I love birthdays. Anybody who gets pissy or weird about their birthdays - I don't get it. I just had a birthday weekend filled with all the things I like the best - food I didn't have to cook, ice cream, snobby chocolates, manicures, high tea, PRESENTS, and love and kindness and friendship so big I got to roll around in it like a dog in a fresh patch of urine.
Speaking of warm spills, I've done a piss poor job of keeping this space filled with stories lately. But I have been busy toodling around the Internet, lucky enough to have my stories chosen for publication on other sites where I feel like I am in the company of amazing writers who make me want to sit down more and write more and read more and just be more.
I could tell you right now how weird the last few weeks have been and how there have been flashes of the devil incarnate splashing out of my daughter's exhausted mouth and how I've worried every night about the best strategy for getting her HYPED for only 11.5 years more of this new routine. But like all the other weird behavioural blips I'm trying to ride out the spiky parts with kid gloves and hope that my love and pride and positivity will become a balm for both of our red and irritated moods.
I'll leave you with this for now. If you're waiting for your coffee to cool or waiting on the toilet for the coffee to work, here's some recent posts that I think you'll like. Oh, and I want to see you more around here. Soon. OK?
5 Ways Coffee Makes Moms Invincible
In the Powder Room
I Have a History of Passing Out
Remembering my Summer of Magic